


Heart and Soul

by quetzalaten



Series: Is This Our Happy Ending? [1]
Category: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quetzalaten/pseuds/quetzalaten
Summary: Billy and Niccolò get used to living together after the events on Alcatraz, and Niccolò brings home a surprise for his partner.
Relationships: Niccolò Machiavelli/Henry "Billy the Kid" McCarty (Nicholas Flamel)
Series: Is This Our Happy Ending? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095248
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Heart and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> (sorry that I am terrible at writing summaries, haha)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic! I will probably turn this into a multi-chaptered thing at some point, but for now have some Machiabilly fluff.

“Come on, hurry up!” yelled Billy as he made his way into the small cottage that Machiavelli had purchased for them to lay low in. After the events on Alcatraz, the two immortals had fled the wrath of their Elder masters and now they were attempting to settle down in a remote part of Europe. Billy thought that the cottage was much better than all of the apartments that they had stayed in up until that point. “ _Too many stairs in apartments_ ,” he had told his partner when Machiavelli had suggested moving in to a penthouse that he owned in Italy. The younger immortal was still getting used to moving around with crutches, and stairs were not helping with this process. Billy sighed. His almost-fatal injury on Alcatraz had been mostly healed by Machiavelli’s aura, but his spine had been badly damaged and he still required an aid to walk.i

Billy was pulled out of his thoughts by a loud crash. He turned to see that Machiavelli had dropped a grocery bag on the hood of Billy’s car. _Their car_ , Billy reminded himself. Since he was unable to drive, the outlaw had been teaching Machiavelli to use the car properly. “ _When did you get your licence, 1886?_ ”ii Billy had teased the Italian. He had grown worried when Niccolò had awkwardly remained silent, and insisted that he would not be allowed to drive without Billy being in the car as well.

“Hey,” Billy said, “be careful with my baby! I’d better not see a scratch on the hood.” Machiavelli rolled his eyes, “Since I am the one who paid for it, would that not make it _my_ baby?” Billy gasped in feigned horror. “Oh stop being so dramatic,” the Italian chuckled as he picked up the bag and walked towards the door of the cottage. When the two immortals were inside, Machiavelli locked the door. He helped Billy over to the couch, then went to the kitchen to put the groceries away. Billy watched him work. “Do you want any help?” he asked. Niccolò glanced at Billy, then shook his head, “No, no, I am fine.” Billy’s heart sank. He was starting to feel as though Machiavelli thought that he couldn’t do anything anymore. If there was work to be done, Machiavelli always said that he could do it himself. _What if he decides that he wants to leave?_ _If Aten and Quetzalcoatl come after us, I will only slow him down._

***

Machiavelli looked over at Billy. _I hope he knows that I am trying to help him._ The younger immortal had been so dispirited lately, and Machiavelli did not know what to do. He had hoped that if he let Billy rest and took up most of the cleaning and cooking by himself, then Billy wouldn’t have to worry about small tasks such as that. But instead the outlaw seemed to be getting more dejected as the weeks passed by. Machiavelli quickly finished putting away the groceries, and went into the living room. Billy was reading a book that Machiavelli had left on the coffee table the night before. When the Italian sat down beside him, Billy looked up from the book. “Hey,” the younger immortal said, smiling softly. His eyes rested on Niccolò’s gaze. _I will never get used to someone looking at me like that_ , Machiavelli thought to himself. He wasn’t sure what Billy saw in him, but he hoped that the outlaw would never leave him. Niccolò didn’t know if he could go back to being alone again.

“What are you reading?” Machiavelli asked. Billy looked at the cover of the book, “Well, to be honest, I haven’t got a clue what it is. I think it is in Italian.” Niccolò shook his head forlornly. “I told you that you should learn my language.” The outlaw shrugged, “Nah, I like hearing you speak it better than I like doing it myself.” He looked up at Machiavelli expectantly. The older immortal sighed. “Later, William. I believe that we have to talk about something.” Billy pursed his lips, “Oh?” Hearing the worry in his partner’s voice, Machiavelli hesitated. “I want to make sure that you understand why I want you to refrain from overexerting yourself.” Billy huffed, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “William, please,” said Niccolò, “listen to what I have to say. Your injuries were very severe. You would have died if our auras had not saved you. That was not very long ago, and you are still healing. It is foolhardy for you to pretend otherwise.”

Billy got up from the couch angrily, “Are you calling me a fool?” Niccolò looked away, “No, William, I am simply suggesting that you should be cautious so that you do not hurt yourself again.”

“Oh, so I should just lock myself away then?” Billy snapped, “I suppose you think that you are my damn warden now? Guess what, Niccolò? I’ve never been very good at staying in prison.”

When the Italian wouldn’t meet his eyes, Billy moved so that he was in front of Machiavelli. “Look at me, Niccolò” the younger man demanded, “I will not have you pretend that I am a fragile piece of grass that is gonna be blown away by the slightest gush of wind. I’ve been through worse than this before, and I was fine. This is no different.”

“I’m sorry,” said Machiavelli, his voice cracking, “I just... I don’t want to lose you. I just want you to be safe. When you almost died, it was the first time in my life that I was truly afraid.”

Billy looked shocked, and the anger drained from his expression. “Oh, Niccolò...” he began, “Why wouldn’t you mention this to me before?” Machiavelli looked at the ground. “Billy, I have never, ever, thought less of you because of your injuries. I would be ashamed to even suggest such a thing. You are one of the strongest people that I know. I just... worry that I am not worthy of you.” Billy grabbed Machiavelli’s hand, “No, don’t you ever say that. I love you, Niccolò.” The Italian opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything his phone started ringing in his pocket. When he looked at the caller ID, he stepped away from Billy. “Sorry, I have to take this call.”

Machiavelli left the room. Billy moved over to the wall so that he could try to listen to what the other immortal was saying. Niccolò seemed to be answering the person on the other end of the call with only short sentences and single words.

“Yes... wait now? So soon? Yes... yes... I know I said to be quick... I just wasn’t expecting it today... Okay... yes, I’ll be there... Thank you. Farewell.”

When he heard Machiavelli hang up the call, Billy hurried back over to the couch. He tried to look natural. “Sooo... who was it?” he asked. Machiavelli grabbed his jacket from where it was hanging by the door, “A business acquaintance. I have to go, but I will be back by 4 PM at the latest.” “Very specific,” mumbled Billy.

Niccolò sighed, turning to face Billy. “Stop pouting,” he said to the younger immortal, “this is very important to me, otherwise I wouldn’t leave right now.” He kissed Billy on the cheek, and started out the door. He froze in the doorway. “Oh, um... Billy, honey... I really, _really_ need to borrow the car...” Billy groaned, “Fine, just don’t crash, okay?” Machiavelli smiled, “Okay, I’ll be careful.”

He turned again, and walked out the door. “I love you!” Billy yelled after him. “ _Ti amo!_ ” Niccolò blew a kiss to his partner, then closed the door behind him.

***

Later that day, Billy was sitting in the bedroom, trying to figure out what to write in a letter to Black Hawk. The Othâkîwa immortal had sent a message almost a week ago asking how Billy was doing, and the outlaw had been struggling to find the right words to send back to his old friend. Sighing, Billy put down his pen and carefully laid down on the bed. He stared up at the wooden ceiling of the cottage. _Where is_ _Niccolò?_ _He has been gone for hours, he should have been back by now._ As Billy contemplated what might be keeping his partner away, his mind started to think up worse and worse possibilities. _What if he crashed the car?_ _Maybe Aten found him._ _Perhaps some other horrible monster or immortal had decided to hunt him down?_ _He could be dead! Oh, god, what if he is dead?_ Billy felt himself beginning to panic. “Dammit, Mac, where are you?” he whispered, forcing himself up to a seated position. Grabbing his crutches, he made his way to the door of the cottage. Glancing outside, he saw nothing but trees and rain. Billy felt his heart racing. He went inside the house again and tried to calm himself down. _Maybe I should make some tea?_ he thought. Instead, Billy paced across the floor, ignoring the pain in his lower body. _Breathe, Billy, breathe_. He looked at the clock. 7:28 PM. Machiavelli was supposed to be home 3 hours and 28 minutes ago. And Billy couldn’t even take the car to go find him.

“Dammit,” he swore again, “what can I do?” Maybe he could call someone? Who would be close enough, or even want, to help him? Billy felt tears welling in his eyes. _That’s it, I’m going after him,_ _even if I have to go the entire way on foot_ _._ The outlaw began to put his coat on.

Suddenly, Billy heard the door open and close. “Billy? I’m home.” The sound of Machiavelli’s voice echoed through the house. “Niccolò!” Billy crowed, hurrying over to the other immortal. The Italian embraced his partner, kissing either side of his face.

“I thought something had happened to you. Where the _hell_ were you?” Billy scowled. Machiavelli looked embarrassed. “Well, I... um... when I left this afternoon you were so upset with me, so I didn’t want to be this late getting home. But it took longer than I thought it would to finish all of the business that I had in town... and well, I... um...” the Italian’s voice trailed off. Billy tilted his head to the side, “What are you talking about?” Machiavelli led the younger immortal outside. “I wanted you to have one less thing to worry about, so I went out and got you something.” Billy followed Machiavelli’s line of sight to the car that was parked in the driveway. On the windshield of the car, right behind the rear view mirror, was a small device that was not there when the Italian had left earlier that day.

“Is that... a dash cam?” Billy asked, looking up at Machiavelli. The other immortal blushed, “I thought that this way, you wouldn’t have to worry about me driving the car as much. If I mess it up, you will have proof.” Billy started to laugh. “What’s the matter?” asked Machiavelli, worried that he might have said something wrong. Billy wiped a tear from his eye, “Only you would think that your partner would need actual video evidence to hold against you in an argument.” The outlaw reached out and grabbed Machiavelli’s hand. “Plus, I wasn’t mad at you. I just don’t want you to think that I can’t look after myself anymore.” The Italian gently kissed Billy’s lips, and led him over to the car. “Oh, I almost forgot, I picked up one more thing when I was out.” Niccolò opened the passenger-side door, and moved out of the way so that the younger immortal could see inside. Billy’s breath caught in his throat. “Niccolò...” he whispered.On the seat was a small box made from a deep red velvet. “You should open it,” Machiavelli murmured in Billy’s ear. The outlaw reached over carefully, and picked up the box. He held his breath as he raised the lid, which was decorated with delicate gold detailing. When he saw what was inside, Billy gasped. Nestled into the soft velvet was an intricately crafted silver ring, with a small red stone set into it. “I had it made as a surprise,” Machiavelli said, “The garnet is the exact colour of your aura.” Billy looked at his partner. Machiavelli was smiling, watching Billy’s reaction to the gift. “It is beautiful,” Billy whispered, “Niccolò, does this mean...?”

Machiavelli got down on one knee, “If you want it to.” Billy leaned against the car to support himself, covering his mouth with his hand. “Oh my god, oh my god, Niccolò...” Taking the ring from the box, Machiavelli smiled up at Billy. “William Bonney, you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You taught me how to enjoy my life, and I know that I want you to be part of it forever. William, my love, will you marry me?” Billy, sobbing, nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, Niccolò, yes... oh my god I can’t believe it... I didn’t expect you to do this.” Machiavelli stood up, and slipped the ring on to Billy’s finger. “Well, I was hoping to do it in a more romantic way, but once I had the box in my hand I couldn’t wait any longer.” Billy grabbed the Italian’s face, and kissed him tightly. Surprised by the sudden gesture, Machiavelli took a step back, but then returned the kiss fervently.

Billy pulled him close to his body, hugging him tightly. “I love you,” he whispered. The outlaw felt Machiavelli put his arms around him in order to keep him upright. Billy buried his face in Niccolò’s chest, breathing in his scent. Although most would not consider Machiavelli’s aura to be pleasant, Billy now thought that it might be his favourite scent in the world. _I’m going to be his husband,_ Billy thought, letting the words sink in to his head, _H_ _e actually asked me to be his husband!_ Chuckling to himself, he realized that he now had something to write to Black Hawk.

The two immortals stood there together for what seemed like an eternity, holding on as if afraid that when they let go the other would somehow disappear. “We should go back inside, the rain is soaking through my clothes,” Billy said eventually. The chill in the air was starting to make his body sore. Machiavelli nodded in agreement. “Do you need a lift?” he asked. Laughing, Billy allowed the Italian to carry him inside.

They went into the cottage, and, after Machiavelli set him down on the bed, Billy began taking his shirt off so he could put a dry one on. His fingers slipped when he tried to unfasten his leg braces, causing him to swear under his breath. He glanced up, and gestured for Machiavelli to come over. “A little help please?” he grumbled. The Italian smiled, and used a dish cloth to dry off the braces in order to make it easier to take them off. “May I?” he asked. Billy nodded his consent, and Machiavelli removed the braces for him. “You know,” said Billy, smirking, “your clothes are pretty wet too.” The other immortal looked up at the outlaw. “Perhaps you could assist me as well?” Machiavelli murmured. Grinning, Billy unbuttoned his partner’s dress shirt. He let his hands move down to Niccolò’s belt, unbuckling it and letting it fall to the ground.

Soon, the Italian was on top of him, and Billy was pulling Niccolò closer so that he could reach his face. Machiavelli pressed his lips to Billy’s. The outlaw kissed him back eagerly, placing his hands on Niccolò’s hips. Machiavelli began kissing Billy all over, beginning with his cheek, and making his way down the other man’s body. Each kiss sent a shiver through him, causing him to groan softly. Niccolò traced the multitude of scars on Billy’s skin. His caressing fingers lingered on the man’s chest. Machiavelli kissed Billy deeply on the neck, sucking on his skin until Billy gasped out loud. Satisfied, Niccolò began gently thrusting himself inside Billy. The outlaw grasped at his partner’s back, digging his nails into the other man’s soft skin. Machiavelli pushed harder, causing Billy’s back to arch reflexively. “Fuck,” Billy groaned. “Let me know if I am going too fast,” Niccolò murmured, conscious of his fiancé’s injuries. “I’m fine, keep going,” the outlaw said softly, kissing Machiavelli’s face tenderly. The two men fell into a rhythm, their bodies moving together as one.

***

When they had finished, they took turns in the bath. When they were both dressed again, they sat together on the couch. Machiavelli turned on the radio. Although Billy enjoyed making fun of him for it, the older immortal thought that the radio was a fascinating invention, and kept one in the house so he could listen to music. The station was playing 30s hits, and Billy leaned over and lay his head down on Niccolò’s lap while the two of them listened.

“ _H_ _eart and soul, I fell in love with you; Heart and soul, the way a fool would do...”_

Thinking about the lyrics, the Italian smiled. “This is us,” he said to Billy. The younger immortal snorted. “You are so corny!” he teased, but he secretly loved when Niccolò tried to be romantic. Machiavelli hummed along to the song, and picked Billy up off the couch. “How are you so lightweight?” he laughed. “Oh shut up,” Billy muttered, pretending to push away from Niccolò. Moving to the timing of the song, Machiavelli slowly danced around the room with Billy in his arms. The outlaw snuggled close to his partner. “Have I told you that I love you today?” he asked. “Multiple times, yes,” said Niccolò, “but you should say it again so that I can be sure.” Billy pressed his forehead to Machiavelli’s, then moved so that their lips were almost touching. “I love you, Niccolò. And now you are stuck with me forever,” he said, waving the hand that was wearing the ring. “Oh no, whatever shall I do?” the Italian said mischievously. He brought Billy into a sudden dip, making him let out a happy shriek, and kissed his fiancé passionately. “I love you too,” Niccolò whispered, brushing a strand of hair off of Billy’s face. The song started to end as Machiavelli held Billy tightly, the two immortals staring into each other’s eyes.

“ _That little kiss you stole; Held all my heart and soul.”_

***

End Notes:

i Damage to the spinal chord often results in paraplegia. People with a partial form of this disability can walk with leg braces and crutches, which is how I have written Billy in this fic. I feel like it makes more sense for the healing at the end of The Enchantress to not have completely cured him of his injury. Disclaimer: I struggle with reoccurring leg pain from an old injury (which is why I wanted to include some sort of lasting consequence to Billy’s own injury), but I am not paraplegic, so if I made any mistakes at all please let me know and I will correct them.

ii The year that Carl Friedrich Benz patented the motorcar.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
